Back inside the hotel, my first stop was to drop off the handicapped placard the manager had lent me; the desk clerk that had gotten Evie up to her room told me which one it was, and I headed for the elevators.
When I knocked on the door to Evie's room, it opened slightly, and I heard her tell me to come in. I did, only to discover that it wasn't just a room, but a suite. Considering that she was limited to moving around in a wheelchair of one kind or another, I supposed that she needed the extra space just to get around without bumping into things. When she heard me close the door, Evie asked me to put the Do Not Disturb sign out, and make sure the door was locked. Somewhat baffled, I did as she asked; after I got back to where she was, I saw that she was seated in her powered wheelchair. Looking at it, I could see that the thing wouldn't have begun to fit in anything like a regular car: it would take a van or something equivalent to haul the thing around.
Seeing me, she smiled and said to go ahead and have a seat. I did, and the curiosity of why I was there must have been pretty plain to her, because the first thing she told me was "I asked you to come up here simply because I had such a good time today – at least, once we got past that me being crippled part. I enjoyed your company, and I'm hoping that you won't mind staying for a little while: you're an interesting person. Of course, if there are other things you have to do, I'll understand; but I really do hope you're able to stay, even if it's just for a little while."
I assured her that I'd gone off-shift before coming up, and that I'd had a nice time, too. I could see that she was pleased at hearing it, and couldn't help but wonder about how much time she had to spend with folks she didn't like being around – and considering what she'd said in the cab about giving people crap, how much of that was her doing. Still, I kept my thoughts to myself, and after a moment she told me "If you're thirsty, there's stuff in the mini fridge over there; it's got both sodas and a couple bottles of other things, as well, if you'd like something stronger."
All things considered, I didn't figure a beer or something would hurt, and went over to have a look. They had my favorite brand of beer – in a bottle, no less – so I took it back to where I'd been sitting. Once I'd opened it and taken a swallow, Evie started things going again by asking me to let her know if there was any trouble about her inviting me up. I told her I didn't think there would be because I figured the manager already knew it hadn't been any of my doing. She said I should still let her know if there was, and I agreed to – though keeping a mental pair of fingers crossed. After that, our conversation ranged far and wide.
With nothing to get in the way of the two of us just talking, we had a fine time for the next few hours. Suppertime came and went with Evie deciding that pizza was called for – and allowing me to pay for it. I fed her a couple of slices while consuming three, myself. We washed it down with sodas that I got from the machines the hotel had – far cheaper than paying for them from the mini-bar.
All in all, it was a pleasant enough way to spend the evening; I enjoyed her company as much as she seemed to like mine.
So I was completely flummoxed when, seemingly from out of nowhere, she asked "Jim, do you think I'm still attractive?"
I made a point of letting her see me looking her over before I answered "Sure. I mean, I can see that your shape has changed some because of the accident, but you're still a pretty girl. What you look like now, I can only figure you must have been a knockout before."
She looked pleased, and then promptly left me stunned by asking "Then would you be willing to go to bed with me?"
She had to have seen the surprise on my face, because she promptly told me "The worst thing about being handicapped and in this fucking wheelchair is that people seem to think that I can't possibly have any kind of sex life – whether that's because I can't have the desire, or they mustn't do anything with me, I don't know. All I know is that before that asshole hit me with his car, I enjoyed the hell out of sex. I was pretty damn careful about who I went to bed with, but when I WAS with someone, I liked it – a lot. Now, I can't even frig myself, never mind getting someone to actually do anything with me!"
I could easily understand that someone else might be reluctant to do anything sexual with her: I was having enough of my own qualms about it. She'd been pretty damn open with me about it, so I figured I owed her the courtesy and respect of being just as open in return, and told her "Evie, God's honest truth, I'm not sure how to respond. Part of it -a small part! – is not being sure about having sex with you in the first place. I mean, you are handicapped, and there's something in me that says having sex with you would just somehow be wrong – no matter HOW clear you were about wanting me to. I hope you'll forgive me, but I wonder if you aren't just trying to hire a gigolo that you think would stick his dick in pretty much any body, any time, so you can get your rocks off. There's the question in my mind about what you expect out of this: are you just looking for a little friendly fornication, or do you think there's going to be something more develop? Then there's another part of me that can't help but wonder how much of it would be us having sex, and how much would just be me fucking you, like you were some kind of high-end sex doll."
As I was talking, I saw that I'd surprised her by just saying what was on my mind without trying to dance around. I also noted that some of what I'd said had hurt, and even offended, her. I regretted causing both of those reactions, but figured that things had to be clear between us before anything could happen.
She got herself composed after a few seconds, and I waited patiently while she got her thoughts together before she finally responded "Okay, I can appreciate how you would be concerned about that stuff. First, as far as having sex with me in the first place, I can only remind you that I'm handicapped – not dead. We'd probably have to do things a little differently, but that doesn't change the fact that not only am I willing to have sex with you, I'm asking you to. So like I said before: let it go."
She went on to say "I'll admit that it hurts, and more than a little bit, that you would think I was just trying to hire somebody to fuck me, like you were some kind of gigolo. I just told you that I was careful about who I took to bed, and that part of me hasn't changed. Hell, the reason I get so damn horny is because I'm not someone that's willing to hire someone else for sex – I've still got too stinkin' much pride. I don't doubt that I could find some guy with a twelve-inch dick that would be more than willing to come in and fuck me all day long, if I was willing to pay him for it. But that's not what I want – at least, not just the sex part. I want it to be with someone I can care about, and maybe even love a little, and who will care and love me in return. I want it to be with someone I know and respect, and who respects ME. You're the first person I've met in a long, long time that fits all of that: the friendship, the caring, and the respect."
She took a breath and went on "As for the question of 'afterwards', I'll just tell you that I don't think I'd mind us being together more than just this one time – but I am most emphatically not looking for a regular boyfriend or anything like that. You've got your life, and I've got mine, and the two places where we are in our lives aren't even on the same map. As you so delicately put it, I'm just after a little 'friendly fornication' – nothing more, other than the friendship part. For the last thing you said, about how much I'd be able to participate… I have to admit that I honestly don't know. I think that I'd be able to do more than just lay there, like some sex toy; how much more… that's the question. I've already told you that we'd probably have to do things differently, but that's pretty obvious. You know that I still have some control over my movements, so that should give you reason to think that it's not going to be a case of you just fucking me and me not doing anything. And in case you didn't catch it the first time, I'll tell you again: I do get horny, so I know that I'll respond pretty much the way you'd expect to whatever we do: I have every reason to believe that I'm even able to have orgasms – even though I wouldn't be able to play with your dick the way I'd like to." That last sentence was accompanied by a slightly lecherous grin on her face, letting me know that she really had enjoyed sex before the accident.